It's not about having things figured out, or about communicating with other people, trying to make them understand what you understand. It's about a chicken dinner at a drive-in. A soft pillow. Things that don't need explaining.

I am not alone in bearing grudges against reviewers who have doomed a book's chances because they've missed the point, the tone, everything.

Whatever one intends, the work takes on a life of its own.

Women are obviously much more discriminated against than men in many ways.

I don't even correct people when they mispronounce my name now.

Clichés so often befall vain people.

Also minimalism is a term that all of us who share so little in common and who are lumped together as minimalists are not terribly happy with.